


Disney High: Seeing Yourself

by IncurableNecromantic



Series: Disney High AU [6]
Category: Disney - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Mentors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncurableNecromantic/pseuds/IncurableNecromantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cogsworth tends to a bullied student from the private school across the way, he isn't expecting to see so much of himself in the boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disney High: Seeing Yourself

"Dance with me, fat boy!"

On his way to his car after a long day, Cogsworth glared a little in the general direction of the words. As a man of generous proportions himself, hearing the dreaded 'f' word, even in reference to another, was enough to incur his deepest annoyance.

He spotted several young people--many of his students, including the lively and rather spoiled Naveen. With them was a strange child, a heavyset and rather alarmed-looking young man in Naveen's arms. They were dancing, in the loosest sense of the term, and he scowled, seeing the obvious distress on the heavy boy's face.

"Stop that at once!" he insisted sharply. Naveen, in mid-pirouette, abruptly let the boy go. The young man went careening across the entryway, slamming into Cogsworth's middle. Cogsworth barked out a small noise of surprise, dropping his books as he caught the boy by the shoulders to steady them both. They barely remained upright. 

Cogsworth glowered. "Why, you little hoodlums--!"

Naveen and the other boys grinned and ran off laughing. Cogsworth thought he spotted Phoebus and John with him, those rebel brats, and probably Vinny. 

Oh, they'd serve detention for this, they certainly would.

He glanced down at the boy who'd hit him, trying to look a little less angry, for the boy's sake. "There you are, my lad. Are you all right?"

"Am I all right?" the boy asked angrily. "I've--I've never been more humiliated!" His voice cracked a little, betraying the misery under the furious tone. His accent was British, and Cogsworth felt an alarmingly potent strike of something like paternal instinct. This young fellow was so very like him, as he'd been as a boy--big, uncomfortable in his own skin, teased mercilessly. 

He remembered how much he'd wished that a teacher would take interest in him, and how none of them had. His student or not, he felt the urge to give him the attention he would've wanted.

"Ah, I am sorry, young man, but I assure you they will not escape unscathed by this reprehensible behavior," Cogsworth said firmly. "Here, come along...perhaps a cup of tea would help?"

The boy rubbed his nose against his sleeve and hesitated for a moment, before reluctantly nodding. Cogsworth smiled reassuringly and picked up his books, leading the way back to his classroom and the electric kettle he kept in his bottom drawer. 

"Thanks," the boy said as they approached the room. "My name's Lawrence."

"You may call me Professor Cogsworth...charmed," he replied, smiling a little. Once inside the room, Lawrence took a stiff and awkward seat on a chair opposite the desk. "Tell me, Lawrence...where are you from? I don't think I recognize you from the student body."

"I go to the academy across the street," Lawrence mumbled. "We have the day off, so no uniforms..."

"Ah, yes. Of course." Bloody private school. Couldn't take a bank holiday like a normal facility, oh no. Had to have their own, special days off. "What brought you over here?"

Lawrence shifted in his seat, looking down to avoid Cogsworth's gaze. Cogsworth flicked on his electric kettle, pulling a tea pot out of the drawer. The boy was stubbornly silent, and Cogsworth tried to be generous with him. Ordinarily he had no patience for this sort of thing--if touchy-feeliness was what was needed, generally he shipped the student off to Mr. Baloo or Nurse Pleakley or one of the elementary school teaches, Mrs. Potts.

But he couldn't get the resemblance out of his mind. He'd wait the poor lad out.

The only sound in the room was the rumbling of the kettle. Cogsworth waited, glancing at the boy every now and then. He blinked, noticing at last the rather large bruise on the boy's neck.

"Great Scott, Lawrence!" he exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me that you'd been hurt? Come with me, I'll get you down to the nurse--I'm sure she hasn't left yet--and she can take a look at you."

"No!" Lawrence cried. He had a look of almost panic fear on his face, which he hastily covered with a pale, insincere smile. "No, no, that's not necessary, this is quite old--they didn't do it, we really mustn't make a fuss."

Cogsworth wasn't buying it. "How long has this gone on? I guarantee you, young man, this will not go unaddressed, and you have no reason to want to protect those little ruffians when they've hurt you like this."

"I tell you, it wasn't them! I just--I just--I fell!"

For a moment, the math teacher had his ire well and truly up, and was about to go and collar those young brutes and put them through the wringer for treating another child this way. And then Lawrence's words clicked.

He'd heard that sort of formulation before, the terrified insistence that it was a trifle, the excuse of accident. Oh, dear, this was not at all the sort of thing he was prepared to deal with.

Cogsworth settled back in his chair, pouring tea leaves into the pot to distract himself. Lawrence held himself very straight, watching the professor warily. 

"You can tell me what happened, Lawrence," Cogsworth said quietly. "I assure you I'm not about to judge--"

"Oh no!" Lawrence shook his head. "I know all about confidentiality for minors--I've read up on that sort of thing! You can't keep it a secret, it's in your job description! I'm not going to talk about it, so you might as well stop now!"

Cogsworth blinked, taken rather aback by the young man's vehemence. He took a moment to consider that. If Lawrence's bruise was the result of the thing he thought it was, he would indeed have to report it to someone. And Lawrence wasn't really his student, either. He wanted to help the lad--a bruise like that had to hurt--but he didn't want to alienate the boy. After all, Lawrence had no reason at all to trust him, anyway...

The kettle began steaming and Cogsworth poured the water into the pot. He sighed loudly and nodded. "Very well, Lawrence. If you don't want to tell me, that's fine."

Lawrence glowered and stood up. "I certainly shall not tell you, and if you don't stop pushing me, I'll--what?"

Cogsworth lifted an eyebrow. "I won't do anything you aren't comfortable with. We can consider this conversation over."

Lawrence stared at him. "Really?"

"Really, Lawrence. I respect your wishes, even if I don't agree with them." Cogsworth gestured to the seat. "Would you like to sit down again?"

Lawrence hesitantly sank into his chair. They looked at each other for a few moments.

"So. Er."

"Yes?"

"That's...Russian Caravan tea, is it?"

"Yes, actually, sharp eye."

"Oh, I think that sort is very good. I've never had it, but I've heard..."

"I hope you will enjoy it."

"Th-Thank you for making it."

"My pleasure."

Cogsworth pulled out two paper cups with a sheepish smile. "I'm afraid we'll have to make do. Keeping any sort of proper porcelain in this building is tempting fate."

Lawrence gave him a tremulous smile. 

\--

Lawrence was a good young man, Cogsworth decided. After they'd had their tea, Lawrence had helped him carry his books out to his car. Cogsworth had not offered him a ride, sensing that this would alarm the boy, but he did smile and tell him that his door was always open to him, and that he'd deal with Naveen and those other little brats.

He had them up on a month's worth of detention and felt a certain sublime sense of true justice, well done.

And a pox on Lumiere's protestations. They had not been having 'a little fun,' they had been tormenting the boy, and just because Lumiere's favorite student's boyfriend was involved was not going to make him stray from the path of justice.

The next time Cogsworth saw him was during the school's fall mixer. Every year the public school tried to foster better relations with the private school, and invited them to a dance. No teacher from the academy ever volunteered to chaperone, which meant that the public school did double duty, since the student body had no qualms at all about crashing the party.

Cogsworth spotted the lad keeping to himself in a corner. Pleased to see the young man again, he wandered over to go see how he was doing.

Then Lumiere caught him.

Cogsworth found himself spun around and dipped backwards, far too close to the ground, in the arms of the grinning Home Economics teacher. "Lumiere!" he spluttered. "We are in public!"

"They are playing our song, mon beau," Lumiere purred. Sure enough, La Vie En Rose was pouring out of the speakers. "I must have this dance."

"I am in the middle of something!"

"Mais oui, yet you are always busy, so you must take a break now," Lumiere insisted, pulling him up with nary a grunt. At least the man was polite about that absurd gesture. "Can one dance take so long?"

Cogsworth looked around the room. "Really, Lumiere, this is entirely untoward, we cannot simply dance in front of the students like this--"

"Absurd. Do not say such a silly thing, mon coeur. They have seen two men dance before, this will not be a shock," Lumiere argued. He clasped Cogsworth's hand and dared his own palm on the small of Cogsworth's back. He was already swaying slightly. "Lighten up, Cogsworth," he admonished playfully.

"Lunatic," Cogsworth grumbled, grabbing Lumiere's wrist and dragging his hand up to a more respectable spot between his shoulder blades. "Fine. One dance."

When he finally escaped his--partner? boyfriend? lover? the exact terminology was still rather up in the air--Cogsworth made his way over to Lawrence again.

The young man was looking at him with surprised eyes. "Good evening, professor."   
"Good evening, Lawrence. I trust you are enjoying yourself?"

"E-Er, yes, I suppose so. Ah. You don't imagine that I could...visit you later in the week, could I? I mean, just for a little while. I have a question I'd like to ask."

Cogsworth, rather surprised, replied, "Certainly, young man, I should be most pleased to have a chat with you."

Lawrence smiled waveringly and nodded, hurrying off.

Goodness. Cogsworth did hope that he hadn't been that nervous as a young man.

\--

When Lawrence came to Cogsworth's classroom on Monday afternoon, he had a distinctly furtive look about him. Cogsworth frowned a little to see it--perhaps he was finally going to tell him about that bruise?

He clicked the kettle on. Somehow he suspected that he'd need it.

"Good afternoon, Lawrence," Cogsworth said, watching the boy close the classroom door and, after a moment, lock it. "What can I do for you?"

"I need you to keep this very, very secret," Lawrence said, giving Cogsworth a pleading look. "Really. You must never tell a soul."

Cogsworth sighed. "Lawrence, if someone is hurting you, I cannot idly sit by and allow it to happen! If you tell me who is doing this to you, I will have to say something to someone."

"What?" Lawrence asked, giving him a confused look. "Hurting--no, no, not at all, it's nothing like that." The boy shook his head. "No, I know all about that, I told you I did. This is something completely different."

"It has nothing to do with anyone hurting or threatening you, does it?" Cogsworth asked, folding his hands on his desk. Well, this was odd. Now he was well and truly at a loss.

"No. But it must never, ever get out. I must have your promise of silence."

It chafed Cogsworth's hide to have to make such a promise. It was so likely that he would have to break it! But what could he do? The boy would certainly never tell him what was so upsetting to him if he didn't promise. "Very well, Lawrence. If it is not something that puts either you or your education in danger, you have my promise of confidentiality."

Lawrence sighed, nodding, and sat down across the desk. "T-Thank you. Sir? I need...I need to know if you have any advice." He swallowed, eyes on the floor. "For a young h-homosexual."

Cogsworth nearly fell out of his chair. "I beg your pardon? What makes you think I have any--"

"You were dancing with another man at the dance," Lawrence said, giving him a slightly skeptical look. "I think he might have patted you on the rump, too, sir."

Cogsworth flushed darkly. Dash it all, Lumiere! It must be the choice bit of gossip all over the school. "One thing I can suggest, Lawrence," he said with gritted teeth, "is never trust a Frenchman. You cannot know what outrageous things they will do."

"I-I'll remember that," Lawrence said quietly. "So. Erm. Sir? Any advice?"

Cogsworth cooled his ire and thought carefully. Well, now. What would he have wanted to tell himself as a young man? "Do only what makes you comfortable and rely upon your own sound judgment," he said at last. "Obey the rules and work hard at whatever you feel is the right thing to do." He sighed. "I'm sure that's not terribly enlightening for you. But I am not quite the poster-child for adjustment, myself. I suppose it is very true that it does get better."

"You looked very happy," Lawrence murmured.

Cogsworth blushed again. "Yes, well. Moving on, I think I can say with confidence that I know some of what you are going through. It takes a great deal of bravery to admit this to anyone--I certainly never did." He smiled slightly. "Thank you for your trust, young man."

"You will keep it a secret?"

"Hot pliers will not get it out of me," Cogsworth smiled. Lawrence returned the expression.

"Thank you, sir."

"My pleasure, lad," Cogsworth said. "My pleasure." 

He poured the tea.


End file.
